


Close Your Eyes So You Can See

by avoidingavoidance



Series: EreMarco Week 2015 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, EreMarco Week, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Smoking, meaning brief offhand mention of recreational drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco’s classmates always ask him where he works, especially after a rough night, but no one ever believes him at first. He’s used to it. </p><p>(he's also fucking oblivious)<br/>(eremarco week, day 2: band/concerts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes So You Can See

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com)
> 
> so the titan factory is based heavily on the [electric factory](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LBlmAq9g0Jo/Uo-Xj-Z5u-I/AAAAAAAABYQ/Ka_urCnaRkE/s1600/electric-factory-1.jpg) in philadelphia, which does not have edm nights but totally does have hot security folk who wrangle crowd-surfers

Marco’s classmates always ask him where he works, especially after a rough night, but no one ever believes him at first. He’s used to it. 

Despite being rather tall and more on the buff side of things, Marco doesn’t exactly _look_ like concert security material, let alone at the Titan Factory, one of the bigger and rowdier venues in the city. In fact, he looks more like an oversized teddy bear than anything else, but that’s neither here nor there.

Truthfully, most of his job consists of giving pat-downs and catching crowdsurfers, maybe lifting smaller concert-goers out of the front row before they break their little ribs against the steel barrier that separates the crowd from the stage. It’s very rare that he actually has to do any securing beyond that. That’s usually a job for one of the bigger, scarier-looking dudes he works with, anyway.

He likes his job. It’s decent money, free loud music, and it keeps him in good enough shape that he basically never has to go to the gym, what with all the carrying of humans and other assorted heavy objects. The whole ‘gentle giant’ thing Marco has going doesn’t really help make it more real for people, but the occasional black eyes he brings to class with him generally prove the point, even if they’re total accidents nine times out of ten.

\--

“Jesus, dude,” his friend Jean groans on one such day, grabbing Marco’s chin before he’s even sat all the way down and pulling him over to get a better look at his most recent shiner. “Let me guess, poorly aimed crowdsurfer?”

“You got me,” Marco chuckles, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. 

Rolling his eyes, Jean lets Marco go and turns his attention back to his notes, sipping the coffee Marco had so graciously bought him to fuel their last minute pre-midterm study session.

“Let me guess again,” Jean continues, not looking up from his notes. “You were _distracted.”_

“Don’t be a bully, Jean,” Marco mumbles, his demeanor absolutely proving Jean correct.

“Hang on, I’m going for three here,” the blonde snorts. He underlines something in his notebook, then leans into Marco’s space with a wide, teasing grin. “You were distracted by your favorite front row show babe.”

Flushing loudly, Marco spares himself from answering by burying his face in his own notes, which totally does not help his case at all. Besides, Jean’s right and he knows it.

Luckily, he takes his victory with some unusual measure of tact, although that probably has less to do with being a graceful winner and more to do with the fact that he’s been blowing off this class for three weeks and has some serious review to do if he wants to make it out of their exam alive.

It’s October, which is always a busy month for the Factory, since outdoor venues usually close up shop before the weather starts getting truly unpleasant. With the cold and the rain come the indoor concerts, and thus the official death of Marco’s weekends. More importantly, however, with the indoor concerts come the concert patrons, and one patron in particular.

The Titan Factory is relatively widely-known for the big names it pulls in, but what it’s really famous for in the city proper are the EDM shows it hosts every other Friday night, where the seemingly endless legions of local artists can come and perform for a _very_ enthusiastic crowd.

Admittedly, Marco’s ambivalent about EDM at best. It’s not generally something he seeks out in his spare time. He enjoys it while he’s there, as muffled as it is through his earplugs, but that’s about it.

Even so, Marco lives for those Friday nights.

He doesn’t know the kid’s name, or anything about him, really. He just knows that he’s there every other Friday, jumping up and down right in the front row, and that he has the most intense, hypnotizing green eyes Marco’s ever seen in his life. 

The guy’s good-looking in general, between his dark, shaggy hair and his tendency to be as shirtless as he can possibly get away with, but it’s those eyes that really get to Marco. When the dude’s enjoying the show, his eyes blaze like arson, and the heat of his enthusiasm is absolutely infectious.

More than a few times, Marco’s found himself far too distracted by those eyes, especially since the guy always manages to stand right in front of him. 

Unfortunately, being distracted generally leads to poorly-wrangled crowdsurfers, which almost invariably means Marco gets a shoe or an elbow to the face. It happens. And whenever it does, the boy with fire in his eyes always spares him a pained, sympathetic look.

Like it or not, Marco always has a smile for him in return. Once he’s not wielding a squirming human, that is.

So yeah, Marco had gotten distracted yet again last Friday, mostly because the dude was, for some unknown reason, not looking at the performers very much. He wasn’t tracing the technicolor displays painted in light across the stage, his eyes weren’t closed beneath the bliss of the deafening bass, none of that. 

No, he had been staring right at Marco, the corners of his lips turned up in a sharp smirk, and he’d been bouncing and dancing in ways that made Marco really detest the censorship of the steel barrier, and rather suddenly, Marco had had to choose between dropping an incoming tiny woman or letting her knee potentially remove his left eye.

Clearly, he made the right call. At least he still has his eye.

Sighing loudly, Marco shakes himself out of that memory and tries to focus on his work. No use hopelessly pining after some adorable, sweaty guy he’s never communicated with before outside of lingering glances and wide, sweeping gestures. 

All logic aside, Marco can’t help but feel a little blue, and Jean has the tact to not be an ass about it right this moment. Marco doesn’t know anything about EDM boy, and that’s entirely unlikely to change.

\--

Everything changes that Friday.

It’s not EDM day, so Marco’s not quite as pumped as he usually is setting up the venue for some weird indie rock show. He does his job, though, and he’s pleasant to the band’s overworked techs when they beg for his help lifting heavy things. Business as usual.

Right up until Marco steps outside for a quick breath of fresh air.

He likes October weather. It’s cool, crisp, feels nice in his lungs and on his tongue, even early in the afternoon. The chill feels good on his bare arms, too, a relief from the heat of moving shit around.

It doesn’t usually smell like cigarette smoke, though. Not this long before the doors open. Marco looks around for the source of the smell, watching a fresh plume of smoke erupt from beside the high end of the ramp. The only thing he can see over the raised edge of the concrete patio is a slouchy red beanie and a pair of hunched shoulders, but that’s about all he needs.

Coming to rest his elbows on the rail above the beanie, Marco leans his chin in his palm and muses, “You’re awfully early for a show that isn’t sold out.” The guy crouched there curses and startles, then stumbles to his feet, whipping around to aim an extremely familiar, toothy grin at Marco.

“O-oh, yeah, well,” EDM boy says, quickly rubbing the back of his neck while Marco’s eyes widen. “I, um.”

Of all the things in the world Marco could think to say, out of every combination of words in the English language that he could string together to not make himself sound like a complete asshole, of _course_ what comes out of his mouth is, “I-It’s not Friday.”

The brunette raises his thick eyebrows. “Um.”

It’s totally Friday.

Standing up straight, Marco tries to recover. “I-I mean, it’s not EDM Friday. That Friday.” Now that he’s looking at him, the dude’s not dressed for EDM night, either. Just plain jeans and a t-shirt and a baggy hoodie, like any regular college kid. 

He flicks his eyes back up to the guy’s face, drawing breath to babble more, but he chokes slightly when he registers the way he’s _looking_ at him.

Bright, bright, bright green eyes widen in surprise, then warm happiness as his grin softens, and the way he seems to melt at those stammered words honestly makes Marco weak in the knees.

“You recognize me.” 

Flushing brightly, Marco nods, his hands glued to the railing. “I mean, you’re here every other Friday, right?”

The dude quirks an amused eyebrow, pausing to take a drag off his cigarette. “And how many other shows filled with other faces do you work between EDM nights?”

Shit. Totally red-handed.

For lack of a better response, Marco shrugs, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. The brunette just laughs, though, the sound raspy and pretty, curled in alluring tones around a wispy cloud of smoke and fogged breath, and it occurs to Marco that he’s never actually heard his voice before. At least, not beyond the usual compliant ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at pat-down, and the ‘thanks’ right after.

It’s nice, his voice. Really nice.

“Anyway,” the brunette says, ashing his cigarette idly. “I’m actually here on business, believe it or not.”

“Oh?”

He nods in response. “I’m supposed to be reviewing this show for a class. It’s not my usual style, but it was better than the alternative.”

Marco tilts his head, slightly confused. “But you’re so early.”

“Yeah, well.” EDM boy lowers his eyes, a sneaky grin curving his pretty lips. “I figure if I _have_ to be here, I may as well make sure I make the best of it.”

“By sitting out in the cold for four hours beforehand?” Marco laughs.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, the brunette looks up at Marco through his eyelashes and takes a long, thoughtful drag off his cigarette before he murmurs, “By making sure I get front row.”

Marco’s still mildly confused, but he’s also very badly flustered by the way EDM boy’s gaze seems to burn right into him, and by the way the smoke he breathes out of his nose seems to curl in snowy fractals around his face. Marco swallows heavily, his grip tightening on the cold railing.

Before he can get his shit together long enough to respond, the door slams open behind him, startling the bejeezus out of them both. Petra, one of the ticket window girls, leans out into the cold and sings, “Marcooo, they need your big buff arm muscles in here.”

“O-okay! One second,” Marco bleats back, aiming a somewhat frantic smile over his shoulder. 

Petra’s shrewd eyes narrow as she glances between the two of them, and the way the corners of her lips curl up gives Marco the impression that he’s in for a _lot_ of teasing later. For now, thankfully, she just slinks back inside, letting the heavy door thud closed on the brick doorstep.

When Marco turns back to him, the brunette looks inexplicably frustrated, his brow furrowed as he sucks on his lips. The expression clears up quickly once their eyes meet again, leaving just the light flush across his cheeks from the cold air as he blinks up at Marco.

“W-well, uh,” Marco starts, pointing helplessly over his shoulder. EDM boy nods rapidly, looking just as awkward as Marco feels, which is something of a relief. Marco shakes himself out of it, though, extending his hand over the railing. “Sorry, I never caught your name.”

“Oh, right, right,” the kid says, moving forward to shake Marco’s hand. His fingers are surprisingly warm, his handshake firm and confident, every part of it fitting into the loose impression Marco has of him. “Eren Jaeger. You’re Marco, right?”

“Yeah, Marco Bodt. Pleased to meet you.”

“Same,” Eren replies, stuffing his hand back in his pocket. He steps back with a curious little smile, lifting his cigarette to his lips, and hums, “See you at pat-down, Marco.” 

Finding himself once more rattled, Marco just nods and trips back inside.

It’s ridiculous, but he swears he can still feel the warmth of those eyes on him all the way backstage.

\--

Even though the show isn’t sold out, when Marco comes out with Reiner and Annie for pat-down, there’s a fairly impressive line winding through the yard, and Eren’s still right at the head of it. He appears to have grown a friend, too, a kid of indeterminate gender with long blonde hair tied up in a messy bun who’s laughing at whatever Eren’s gesticulating wildly about.

While Reiner gets people’s attention for the usual pre-security rules and threatening, Marco takes his position by the door, the scary bouncer persona firmly in place. Eren catches his eye and grins, probably expecting the same quick, friendly smile Marco always has for him. He feels bad, but out here, he has to maintain the ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. It’s a security thing. Early intimidation is key.

After how easily he’d shown his emotions earlier, Marco’s unfaltering stoicism seems to trip Eren up. That pretty smile falters and his eyes narrow after a second without any response or acknowledgment, so Marco throws him a wink, something small to let him know that they’re still good.

It doesn’t appear to have the intended effect. Eren’s gaze falls and he furrows his brow, looking much like he had when Petra had startled them earlier. Frustrated, or maybe just plain pissed. Marco’s stomach drops slightly. Damn the scary bouncer persona.

Eren’s friend, however, starts snickering once they see that expression, earning an even sourer grimace from the brunette. They cover their mouth, blue eyes absolutely _sparkling_ with mirth behind thick-rimmed glasses.

“If we’re all clear,” Reiner booms, catching Marco’s attention once more. “Boys to your right, girls to your left, you decide which line you belong in.” 

Still frowning, Eren follows his giggling friend up the stairs and hands his crumpled, folded print-out tickets to Reiner to scan. His friend goes over to Annie for their pat-down, smiling shyly at the tiny blonde girl, and Eren shuffles over to Marco, his eyes firmly planted on the ground.

Even though this must be the thousandth time they’ve done this, Eren still seems significantly more subdued than usual. Marco must’ve gotten under his skin. He feels really bad, but professionalism is professionalism.

“Unzip your hoodie, please,” Marco says, waiting until he does so to run his hands along each of Eren’s arms, then down his sides. He swats at his loose hoodie pockets, his knuckles brushing a box of some sort in one of them. “Cigarettes?” Eren nods placidly. “Can you take them out and open them?”

Eren does, and Marco leans over to peer inside before he glances at Eren and mumbles, “Didn’t know you smoke.”

Blinking widely, Eren finally looks up at him, then swallows and nods. “Trying to quit.”

“Good for you,” Marco hums warmly, bending to run his hands quickly down each of Eren’s legs. As usual, Eren’s phone is in his front left pocket, wallet in his back right, so Marco doesn’t even bother asking. “Okay, you’re good,” he says, straightening up and standing aside so Eren can join his waiting friend.

For a brief moment, Eren frowns up at him, sucking on his lips again, and suddenly Marco can’t help but wonder if maybe that pissy expression isn’t actually all that pissy after all.

It’s strange to think, but the way Eren frowns at him seems more shy than anything else.

Once Eren’s shuffled past him, Marco waves the next person forward, and pat-down autopilot takes over from there.

\--

Just before the opening band comes onstage, Marco takes his place in the pit between the stage and the milling crowd, hands resting comfortably behind his back. He’s not exactly surprised to see Eren in his usual spot against the barrier right in front of him. What’s more unusual is the look of petulant boredom written all across his face, matching the way he’s slouched against the metal with his chin resting in his palm, lips pursed in thought. It’s worlds apart from his usual magnetic excitement on EDM night, from the way he bounces and chatters and laughs before the show starts. 

As snotty as it is, Marco still thinks he’s cute. 

He’s still staring at Eren a good minute later, when those wandering eyes meet his and widen. Even though this is far from the first time he’s been caught, Marco tenses, giving him an extremely awkward smile. It might be too much to hope that Eren doesn’t think he’s creepy, but Marco’s not an optimist for nothing.

After a weird second, Eren flicks a brief smile back at him, then turns to talk into his friend’s ear, almost seeming to lean his whole body into them while his lips move quickly. Even if he didn’t have his earplugs in, Marco doubts he’d be able to hear him. The blonde, who’s been producing a seemingly endless number of tissues from their cardigan pocket to blow their nose, listens attentively, then elbows Eren in the gut and turns to address him somewhat sternly.

While they’re distracted, Marco squints at the little blonde more closely than he had outside. Even at a relatively tame show like this, the front row is usually a pretty tight squeeze, and it’s always much hotter than is comfortable. It’s definitely no place for someone to be if they’re feeling under the weather.

Resolving to keep a close eye on them, Marco sighs and goes back to scanning his assigned section of the audience, vaguely aware of the opening band coming out behind him and introducing themselves. 

Unsurprisingly, this kind of music isn’t exactly crowdsurfing material. It’s slow and easy, almost mournful in places, and the vocals are so raspy that Marco can hear the scratch through his earplugs. Not exactly his thing either, but he could see himself listening to it when he’s sleepy. The patient audience sways and flows, hands waving lazily through the foggy air, probably a mix of questionably-legal smoke and the fog machines pouring a thick haze over the crowd.

Eren looks like he’s dying.

It’s obvious that he’s trying to be polite, weaving right along with the people pressed close around him, but the way his eyes are closed now is so different from how they are when he’s really into the music. This is less of a blissed-out daze and more of an impatient distraction.

He obviously hadn’t been lying when he said this wasn’t his scene. Marco snorts, the sound lost in the cadence of a twinkling piano line. 

The band plays, and Marco feels like he’s sleeping on his feet by the time they finish their set. The crowd thanks them enthusiastically regardless, waking as if from a collective dream to call out to them, to reach toward the stage. Eren claps along, leaning down into his friend’s ear again. The blonde also kind of looks like they’re falling asleep, but Marco had seen their lips moving along to the music a few times, so maybe they’re just high or something.

The Factory’s filler music starts up while the bands switch out and the crowd shifts and flows, people streaming all around or crowding closer. Marco rolls his shoulders idly. Hopefully the next band is a little less drowsy. If nothing else, he’ll probably sleep well tonight.

While people move around them, Eren and his friend stay exactly where they are, both leaning forward against the barrier. Eren rests his chin in his palm again, his bored face coming back in full swing. His thumb taps quickly against the barrier while his eyes wander aimlessly, tracing around and through the usually-lively lighting rig, along the stage, following a few wandering stage techs before they land on Marco again.

After a moment, Eren quirks an eyebrow at Marco, his pursed lips softening into a crooked smile. Marco returns the smile with a shrug, tilting his head slightly, and Eren responds by crossing his eyes, then rolling them dramatically, his entire body seeming to slump into the motion before he blinks back up at Marco, who’s struggling not to laugh too hard. 

Now that he can see the effects he has on Marco, Eren seems like he’s regaining his confidence, a familiar, playful spark lighting his vibrant eyes. It’s their usual sort of wordless communication, minus the frenetic pulsing of a living audience, minus the way Eren seems to breathe in the energy of the performers, of the crowd, of Marco’s attention. 

Still, he knows he at least has Marco’s willing eye, and that seems to make him bolder. 

His gaze lingering heavily on Marco, Eren leans down to talk into his friend’s ear again, the corner of his lips curved up in the kind of sharp smirk that sends a thrill down Marco’s spine.

This time, when the blonde digs their elbow into Eren’s gut, they shoot him an appalled glance, at which he just laughs. It looks loud, probably sweet and infectious, and Marco’s sorely tempted to pop his earplugs out to hear it. While Eren’s laughing, barely supporting himself against the barrier, his friend wrinkles their nose at him, but they’re obviously laughing too. 

Watching them is fun, but feels a little too much like eavesdropping for Marco’s taste, so he directs his attention back out at the audience.

Midway through the next band, the crowd’s pressed closer than before, moving more and breathing more as the band plays something with a livelier undertone. It’s hotter now, too, and there’s more people, more smoke than before, if possible, so Marco checks on Eren and his friend again.

Maybe it’s the harsh blue lighting, but Marco can’t help but feel like Eren’s friend looks a little worse for the wear. They’re leaning more heavily against the barrier, their face pale and sweaty, much more than it should be for how little they’ve been moving. Eren’s bent over so he can talk to them, running his hand along their shoulders. The blonde shakes their head a few times, but Eren looks concerned enough to warrant Marco’s full attention.

When the blonde folds their arms atop the barrier and rests their forehead on them, Marco steps forward and taps their elbow, ducking to check on them. They smile politely and wave their hand, but Eren straightens up beside them and shakes his head.

Marco blinks over at him and mouths, _‘Okay?’_

Eren shakes his head again and turns to look over his shoulder, grimacing at the wall of people keeping them pressed there. The blonde slumps forward more, glancing sheepishly at Marco over their glasses, which is more than enough for Marco.

He mimes picking the blonde up, eyebrows raised in question, and their nose wrinkles before they nod and stand up straight. Marco gestures for them to wrap their arms around his neck, moving close enough that he can slide one arm around their narrow back, and once they’re holding onto him, he leans over and reaches down, scoops them up by the knees, and hauls them over the barrier.

Before he can put them down, Eren makes to jump over the barrier too, but he stops when Marco frantically waves his less-occupied hand at him and mouths, _‘Wait.’_ Obviously confused, Eren’s brow furrows, but he listens, thankfully. 

As he sets the blonde back on their feet, Marco can feel Eren’s eyes digging into his head, less playful now and more like an overprotective bear or something. Regardless, Marco crouches slightly and makes sure the blonde’s steady on their own before he turns to Eren and leans into his ear to explain. 

“It’s a legal thing, you can’t hop it, sorry,” he says, hoping he’s loud enough to hear over the music. He feels Eren’s frustrated exhale against his neck, hesitating just for a second before he offers, “If it’s okay, I can pull you out too?”

Leaning back again, Marco blinks down at Eren as the brunette frowns at him, his sharp eyes darting between Marco and his friend before he gives him a curt nod.

Marco nods back, then gestures for Eren to put his arms around his neck, just like he’d done for the blonde. Eren’s frown deepens, but he does it, and Marco swings him over the barrier just as easily. He’s heavier than he looks, and insanely warm, even through all of his layers. 

When Marco sets him down, Eren sucks on his lips again and stares up at him for a second before he unlinks his hands from behind his neck and steps away from him. Marco slides back to his usual position and nods again, offering Eren a small smile that the brunette doesn’t return. Instead, his dark eyes narrow slightly, his shoulders tense and his face flushed.

He _looks_ pissed, but again, Marco doesn’t feel at all like he’s about to get into a fight, so he just tilts his head in question.

Shaking his head, Eren turns to his friend and ushers them away without a second glance. Marco watches them scuttle past the rest of the security, then turn out of the pit and pass out of his line of sight, leaving him with nothing but questions.

\--

Marco only makes it through another two-ish songs before the combination of confusion and boredom leaves him crawling out of his skin. He lets his coworkers know that he’s ducking out as best he can, but honestly, the other guys in the pit are mostly asleep on their feet too, so they could care less.

Once he’s out of the pit, Marco skirts around the edge of the crowd, looking all around to see if he can find Eren and his friend. He eventually spots them at the bar tucked in the back corner, the blonde’s fingers wrapped tightly around a plastic cup of clear liquid.

“I hope that’s water,” Marco chuckles warmly once he’s standing beside them, reaching up to pull his earplugs out and stuff them in his pocket. Eren’s eyes widen comically over the rim of his beer, and it sounds a little like he might be choking on it, but the blonde talks right over his spluttering.

“Yes, thank you,” they reply, turning in their seat to face Marco properly. They certainly look more alive, now that they’re sitting down and drinking water, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

“Are you feeling okay?” Marco asks, obviously concerned. “Are you good with the water, or should I call someone?”

“No, none of that,” the blonde laughs, waving their hand casually. “I’ve been sick for, like, two weeks, I was just kind of dehydrated.” Satisfied, Marco nods and rests his hands comfortably in his pockets, immediately distracted by the sound of Eren choking into his beer again. The blonde looks over at him too, raising a critical eyebrow before they mutter, “At least I had an excuse for my thirst...”

Eren’s eyes bug out. He levels his friend with a mildly panicked stare over the rim of his cup before he kicks them right in the shin, earning himself a hiss and a fairly brutal kick in return. Marco just laughs, idly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Concert-going is thirsty business, I guess,” he muses, smiling pleasantly when Eren’s wide stare swings back onto him. “I imagine EDM night works up more of a thirst, though. Little more lively,” Marco continues. Beside him, the blonde’s mouth falls open, but they recover quickly and close it again, shaking their head instead. 

Finally pulling his beer away from his lips, Eren swallows heavily and squints up at Marco, whose smile just widens. 

“Yeah, it does,” Eren says, his words strangely careful, like he’s methodically choosing every one. “A much, much bigger thirst. Like, dying of thirst.”

“You should take water breaks, then,” Marco replies simply. Eren’s eyes bug out impossibly further, and the blonde’s gaping at him too, both of them clearly baffled for whatever reason. He blinks between them and says, “I mean, you might lose your spot, but at least you won’t pass out.” Eren’s friend covers their mouth, still staring. “Oh, uh. N-no offense.”

“None taken,” they mumble behind their narrow fingers.

“B-but if I _did_ pass out from thirst,” Eren blurts, catching Marco’s attention again. “That’s why you’re there, right? To help?”

Marco hums thoughtfully, then shrugs. “One of many reasons, yeah.”

“Eren, you’re awful,” the blonde huffs. Eren just nods vaguely, his eyes not leaving Marco’s.

After a weird pause, Marco scratches the back of his head and laughs, “Um. I should get back. I just wanted to check and make sure you guys were okay.”

Eren’s friend turns and nods, then gratefully pats Marco’s arm. “Thank you again, Marco.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“I’m Armin,” the blonde replies, smiling widely. “Saddled with the terrible burden of being this one’s childhood best friend.”

Marco laughs warmly at that. Jean would probably like this kid. “You must know him pretty well, then.”

“Far, _far_ too well.”

“H-hey—” Eren sputters, grimacing dramatically.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Armin cheerfully interrupts. “See you around, Marco.”

Digging his earplugs out of his pocket, Marco gives them one last smile as he pushes them in and says, “Stay hydrated!”

With the way the earplugs dampen all incoming sound, Marco totally misses the pained groans Eren and Armin both fail to muffle.

\--

He doesn’t see them again during the concert, nor afterward, but that’s not terribly surprising, given the heavy foot traffic out of the Factory once the show’s over. 

It’s not until long after he’s gone home for the night, staring vacantly at his dark ceiling in the wee hours, that Marco remembers that there’s an entirely different definition for the word ‘thirst’ that has nothing to do with water.

The burning embarrassment doesn’t fade for several days.

\--

Telling Jean was the worst decision Marco’s ever made in his entire life, because Jean is his absolute best friend, and thus is not only wholly unsympathetic, but also downright _mean._ Marco’s half-deaf from the blonde’s howling cackles by the end of that week.

\--

Surprisingly, Marco doesn’t see Eren that Friday night, even though it’s EDM night. 

He’d probably decided that Marco’s too oblivious for his tastes, anyway, and once Marco’s done with opening pat-downs and moved inside, he’s very sure that he’s never going to see Eren again.

EDM night just isn’t the same without Eren right in front of him, looking at him and grinning and jumping against the barrier. There’s plenty of cute, sweaty people there, of course, but none of them are _Eren,_ and none of them even pay him a second glance. 

That was all Eren’s territory, anyway. Eren always noticed him, always had a smile for him, and even though Marco’s dark uniform blends in with the dark of the stage and the dark of the venue, even though Marco’s part of the wallpaper by design, Eren never failed to see him. He _looked_ for him, too, which in itself must belie some sort of interest. They’d had _chemistry,_ the sort of magnetism that held up under the weight of being unable to communicate, and in the space of one unusual concert and a handful of short conversations, Marco had managed to expose himself for the utterly hopeless nerd that he really is.

He mournfully watches some shirtless kid surf the crowd for a while, sighing to himself when they teeter into his assigned area of the audience as they’re carried forward. If nothing else, Eren’s absence means Marco will be able to focus on catching flailing crowdsurfers again.

Marco steps forward as the crowd shifts the kid forward, reaching up to wrangle them around so he can catch them properly. When they fall off and into his arms, they wrap their arms right around Marco’s neck, and it’s only then that he notices that he’s holding a widely-grinning, _very_ sweaty Eren.

Oh.

The music’s pumping far too loud to talk, and Marco’s wearing his earplugs anyway, but he still opens his mouth in hopes that he finds something to say. He doesn’t, of course, but that doesn’t seem to faze Eren. The brunette squirms slightly, unfolding a crumpled, damp scrap of paper he’d been clutching and holding it up in front of his radiant grin.

Scribbled on the paper is a phone number, followed by, in all caps: _‘I AM FLIRTING WITH YOU.’_

Eren seems endlessly pleased with himself, shaking with laughter in Marco’s arms, but Marco’s so overwhelmed with giddy butterflies that all he can do is roll his eyes and grin.

\--

After the show is over and he’s closed up for the night, Marco finds Eren still waiting for him outside, thankfully wearing a shirt now.

The shirt quickly winds up in the passenger seat of Marco’s car, then crumpled on the floor of Marco’s apartment, and much later, on a hanger in the closet they come to share.


End file.
